


Sweetly Hold Your Hand

by brilligspoons



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: 5 Things, Alternate Universe, Domestic, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-02
Updated: 2011-08-02
Packaged: 2017-10-22 03:25:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/233216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brilligspoons/pseuds/brilligspoons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-movie, divorce never happened: five moments of domestic fluff and sweetness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweetly Hold Your Hand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pocky_slash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocky_slash/gifts).



> For pocky_slash, who wanted ridiculous and fluffy domestic scenes. I hope this gives you cavities.

1.  
Sean and Alex systematically manage to destroy all of the paintings Charles’ parents had hung about the house. There’s no particular rhyme or reason to their chaos, except that Jean’s tiny, heart-wrenching sniffles are noticeably absent while the boys are running around blowing things up and laughing while they do it. She still won’t approach any of them save for Charles himself, but every so often he’ll catch her giggling at their antics from behind a door that is slightly ajar.

He refrains from reprimanding them for the most part. The harm they’re doing to his house is minor in comparison to the good they’re doing her psyche. Except, of course, they go a _bit_ too far one afternoon, and Charles is left staring at a large, gaping hole in one wall of the mansion.

Erik comes up behind him and sets his hands on Charles’ shoulders. “I imagine the people who built this house did not plan for young mutants’ roughhousing,” he says.

“I’m sure they didn’t plan for roughhousing at all,” Charles retorts. He sighs. “We’re going to have to call in a builder for this. I had hoped to avoid outsiders traipsing about the place a lot longer than this.”

“You can always erase their memories,” Erik reminds him. Charles shoots him a _look_.

“That,” he says primly, “would be a _last_ resort.” He thinks for a moment. “Perhaps the children would like a field trip. An extended one. They could always do with a bit more hands-on education.”

“If you’re about to suggest I take them away for longer than a few hours,” Erik says, “you can stop right there. The answer is no.”

“Erik.”

“ _No._ ”

“Not even for a week?”

“Not for any length of time, Charles. Hire the contractors, wipe their minds if need be, but _do not_ ask me to travel with the children.”

Two weeks later, Erik phones him from New York City. “I hate you,” he says without preamble. Charles smiles.

“Kids behaving themselves?” he asks.

“We’ve been banned from Central Park. You owe me for the rest of our natural lives, Xavier.”

2.  
Rather than order all new bookcases be made for the mansion, Hank devises an extendable arm of sorts that allows Charles to retrieve books from even the highest shelf. There are, of course, some near misses during the test phase, but Charles reassures a frantic Hank that it isn’t the first time a volume of the Encyclopedia Britannica has fallen on his head.

“Or,” Erik says as Hank hurries out of the library to rework the grasping mechanism, “you could just ask one of us to bring the books to you.”

“Nonsense,” Charles waves him off. “Learning to be self-sufficient is an important part of recovery in these cases. And it’s not like I want to be constantly interrupting any of you just to fetch me things, don’t be ridiculous.”

Of course, when Hank’s redesign does not extend nearly as far as Charles needs, Charles is left facing the shelf and scowling. He knows instinctively that Erik, who has been sitting on the other side of the library and watching him since after breakfast that morning, is smirking at him. “Fine,” Charles says. “I can wait for that book until Hank fixes the problem. Not an issue.”

Erik snorts, and Charles whips his head around to glare at him. “Something to say, Erik?” he asks.

“No, no,” replies Erik. “Just...observing.”

Charles turns back to face the shelf again and wonders how far he can get in his research before he absolutely needs the genetics text. A moment later, Charles lurches forward in his chair slightly and grabs on to the arm rests to steady himself. He _floats_ upwards, the movement foreign and a little terrifying, until his head is level with the top-most row of books. Charles huffs, reaches over and selects the book he needs, and then he’s floating down and secure on the floor again.

“Thank you,” Charles mutters stiffly as he wheels himself back to his desk. He hears Erik sigh and toss the magazine he’d been flipping through onto a nearby table.

“I know you want to be able to do for yourself, Charles,” Erik says, “but until you can, don’t be afraid to ask for help.

Charles pauses for a moment, then shrugs. “Thank you,” he says again, though this time it sounds suspiciously like _I love you_ even to his own ears.

“You’re welcome,” Erik replies, and Charles knows without reading his mind that Erik means _I love you, too, you idiot._

3.  
“Charles asked me to remind you that Jean has a doctor’s appointment this afternoon,” Raven tells Erik.

“What? Why is he reminding _me_?” Erik asks. She steals a piece of toast off his plate. “Oh, yes, you’re welcome to take my food, Raven. Help yourself.”

“Thanks,” she says with a smile, “I will. And he’s reminding you so you can take her. He has a migraine, he’ll probably be out of commission for the rest of the day, if not longer.”

Erik panics a little. “I don’t even know where Jean’s doctor is,” he protests. He feels a tug on his shirtsleeve and looks down to find the little girl in question staring at him intently with tiny frown. It’s... _disconcerting_ to see such an expression on such a small child, to say the least.

“I have to get a shot today,” she whispers. “Can we get ice cream after? Charles said it was okay.”

He looks at Raven, who shrugs and continues demolishing what was left of Erik’s lunch. “I suppose that would be alright,” he says to Jean. “Why don’t you go grab your coat? I’ll find out where this appointment is taking place.”

Three hours and two ice cream cones later, Erik and Jean wander back into the mansion to find Charles lying on the couch in the front sitting room. Charles takes one look at them, pauses, and then frowns. “Jean,” he says, “you shouldn’t lie to Erik. Now apologize.”

“What?” Erik says, utterly confused.

Jean pouts but dutifully murmurs an apology to Erik before stomping off to put her coat away.

“She played you,” Charles explains. “I told her she wasn’t allowed to have any today, and I think she was a little cross with me.”

For a moment, Erik is ashamed that he let an eight year old fool him, but he shrugs it off. “The only proper remedy for shots is chocolate ice cream,” he tells Charles. “Everyone knows so. Except you, apparently. Old man.”

Charles laughs, then winces. “Ugh, I thought this was going away finally,” he moans.

“Come on,” Erik says. He scoops Charles up from the sofa and deposits him in his wheelchair. “Back to your room. I’ll bring you dinner later, if you’re feeling up to it.”

“Remind the children to eat something nutritious tonight, please,” Charles mumbles.

“I make no promises,” Erik says.

4.  
Erik has never carved a jack-o-lantern before, which is unfortunately brought to their attention one afternoon when the knife he’s using to do so slips and slices into his left hand. “Ow,” he says almost as an afterthought when Charles enters the kitchen just then and sees the blood dripping down.

“ _Ow_?” Charles parrots back to him. He grabs a dishcloth and tosses it to Erik. “That’s all you can say?”

“It’s a small cut,” Erik replies. “I’ve had worse.”

“You could’ve avoided getting cut altogether,” says Charles. “We have these things called _mutations_ , maybe you’ve heard of them. Yours has something to do with metal, if I recall.”

“Amusing, as always.”

“Or,” Charles continues, wheeling himself over to inspect Erik’s hand, “you could have not tried to carve a pumpkin at all. Why on earth did you decide to do this?”

Erik presses the cloth against the cut, holds his hand out of Charles’ reach. “Jean and Scott are very excited about this Halloween business,” he says. “Ororo is enthralled by their stories about trick-or-treating and doesn’t remember making her own, so I thought I’d...decorate the house a bit.”

A small smile works itself across Charles’ face. Gently, he takes hold on the injured hand and presses a kiss against the thumb, doesn’t say anything but stares up at Erik for a long time. They stay this way until well after the bleeding has stopped and the late afternoon light has faded into evening.

5.  
“Charles.”

Charles mumbles a little in his sleep, shifts about under the comforters until he’s once more lying close to Erik.

“Charles, I think you should wake up.”

“Why?” he asks. “Nothing’s on fire, and no one’s screaming in pain, and we went to bed two hours ago. I want to _sleep_.”

“That’s all well and good,” Erik replies, nudging at Charles’ face with his nose, “but there are three small children crouched on the side of our bed, waiting to pounce on us like wild cats. I don’t know that we stand a chance against them.”

Sure enough, someone ( _Ororo_ , he thinks) crawls on top on him and shakes his shoulder.

“Charles,” she whispers. “Charles, it’s time to wake up!”

“No, it’s not,” he whispers back.

“But there are _presents_ downstairs,” she insists.

Charles opens his eyes slightly, sees that Erik is refusing to open his own. “Erik,” he says.

“Not my holiday, Xavier,” is the reply, “you’re on your own.”

“Unbelievable,” Charles mutters. Ororo shakes him again. “Alright, alright, I’m getting up!” Jean and Scott burst into giggles and run from the room. Ororo smacks a kiss on Charles’ cheek, then runs off to join them. Charles settles back into the covers.

“They’re just going to come back and bother you,” Erik warns him, but he wraps his arms around Charles and holds him close.

“Five more minutes, dear,” Charles says and promptly falls right back to sleep.


End file.
